


Fallen Angel

by Vampiricalthorns



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Anxiety, Comfort, Depression, Ed needs therapy, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Roy's a good boyfriend, Scratch that all the FMA characters need therapy, not that depressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 21:18:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17875034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiricalthorns/pseuds/Vampiricalthorns
Summary: For a moment, Roy forgets what it’s like to breathe; Ed must have collapsed, or slipped and hit his head or-Or he’s just having one of those days where tonnes upon tonnes of concrete has fallen on his shoulders and where a dark-grey filter has been placed in front of his eyes.





	Fallen Angel

**Author's Note:**

> I was in a slump when I wrote this. A y'all may have noticed, I write a lot of emotional and deep shit to cope with pain and emotions. This is what happens when I actual try to _not_ have my readers emotionally scarred for the rest of their lifes.
> 
> maybe it actually worked for once

Roy finds Ed on the cold tile floor of the upstairs bathroom. He’s just laying there, on his side, with his arms laying aimlessly in front of him and eyes closed. For a moment, Roy forgets what it’s like to breathe; Ed must have collapsed, or slipped and hit his head or-

Or he’s just having one of those days where tonnes upon tonnes of concrete has fallen on his shoulders and where a dark-grey filter has been placed in front of his eyes.

He looks oddly beautiful, Roy realises– like a fallen angel, hair splayed out over the impersonal grey bathroom tiles that surely must be both cold _and_ uncomfortable to lay on, especially considering it’s the _automail_ shoulder that’s pressed down towards the floor.

He sits down on the floor next to Ed and gently reaches out a hand to thread through Ed’s tangled hair. It hasn’t been brushed today; it usually isn’t whenever it gets too much. And that’s okay.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Roy says softly, knowing better than to expect a reply. “Aren’t the tiles uncomfortable to lay on? Would you prefer to move downstairs and I’ll lay out some blankets next to the fireplace? Would you maybe like that a bit better?

Edward doesn’t reply, but he cracks open one dull golden eye to look up at Roy. That, at least, is a relief; that Ed can hear him through the roaring of voices and memories echoing through his brain.

“Is there anything I can do to make this a little more bearable?” Roy asks, voice quiet as to not startle his lover, moving his hand to brush over Ed’s cheekbone. Ed, again, doesn’t reply. “You don’t have to answer. I understand it, Love.”

Roy smiles softly down at his fallen angel; his ray of light; his sunshine. Even though angels are ethereally beautiful and strong and powerful and all other kinds of amazing beings, they are also fragile; one wrong blow to a wing can send them spiralling.

“Would you like me to leave and light the fireplace?” Roy asks because even if the floor must be a cold relief to the hot-blooded, horrible thoughts in his brain, the floor hurts Ed and would in the long run only contribute to further spiralling.

Judging by the small tightening and movement of Ed’s neck and jaw, Roy guesses that Ed has attempted the world’s smallest nod and so he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to Ed’s jaw before standing up and leaving the bathroom. He turns to the right and takes his time walking down the staircase. He knows that Ed will utilise the time Roy’s given him with trying to get off the floor, to wash away the tear-tracks stained on his cheeks and to grab one of their comforters from the bedroom.

It’s an all-too-familiar occurrence.

As Roy grabs the matchbox from the mantel, he can’t help but let a small smile tug at his lips. They’re two ordinary humans with so much nightmare material it should have by now physically manifested in the air around them and have choked them.

The dreams do that- make them relive everything in horrifying detail, much more real than any film could have ever portrayed it.

But it’s the daytime that’s the worst; when the real monsters reside in the very front of the brain, shadowing the entire world in a thick layer of hopelessness.

And as he lights the match and gently lays it in between the kindling, watching it catch aflame, he realises how exceptionally resilient humans really are. Through hardships and great disasters, they’ve persisted and adapted. Ed has seen so much pain, _felt_ so much pain, and experienced enough for two lifetimes (which technically is true, considering how he’s _died_ and come back) but yet he’s still here, still with _him_.

While the fire slowly builds up, Roy grabs the blankets and pillows from the couch and lay them out in front of the fireplace. They do this a lot, just lay there, in the middle of the room, on blankets and comforters and pillows, protecting themselves.

Because Ed’s a fallen angel that, rather than protecting the world, needs the world to protect him.

And Roy’s reminded again and again all too much when he sees his light standing in the doorway to the living room, wrapped in a dark grey comforter, mismatching feet barely sticking out from underneath, and a tired expression that doesn’t hide anything.

“Come here, Love,” Roy says softly. And Ed comes, wraps himself as close to Roy as the comforter and automail limbs will allow. And Roy tightens his grip around his angel, intent on moving some of the concrete weighing Ed down, onto his own shoulders to help carry the burden.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr at which I rarely post: @vampiricalthorns


End file.
